To Be A King, To Be A Queen
by htsoldierette
Summary: [Edited summary]: "After enduring one particularly hectic morning, Jon decided it was about time to visit the woman who had long since captured his heart." My first fanfic; please R/R!
1. A Modest Proposal

**This takes place during the months following King Jon's coronation.**

* * *

Three weeks after his coronation, King Jonathan of Conté found himself being buried under official documents and having more council meetings than ever. Of the many issues under rectification, there were the repercussions from using the Dominion Jewel: the earth's seeds died so crops were going bad, livestock did not meet standard expectations, and buildings all throughout the country crushed products and thus Tortall's economy. Farmers were slowly losing their income with declining production and Tortall's markets were beginning to feel it. Though the king tried not to think about it, his council feared that the people's pre-coronation predictions of Jon's cursed reign and imminent famine were starting to come true.

After enduring one particularly hectic morning, Jon decided it was about time to visit the woman who had long since captured his heart.

He found her busy saddling up for an afternoon ride. He leaned against a stable stall doorway, watching-admiring-her gracefulness for a time before speaking up.

"Your Highness."

Thayet turned her horse steadily to look at him. With widening eyes and a genuine smile, she bobbed her head and responded, "Good morning, Your Majesty."

Jon face broke into a smile for the first time in days. "You can start calling me Jon, any time now, seeing as we've been through quite a bit together," he teased.

Thayet simply raised an eyebrow. "You haven't started calling me Thayet."

He laughed. "Fair enough. Are you going out for a ride?"

"Maybe," Thayet teased back. She looked down at him mock-suspiciously. "Are you of a mind to join us?"

Jon looked distracted. "Yes, actually. I haven't been out in-Mithros knows how long. Wait-" he suddenly realized exactly what she'd said-"'us_'_?"

Thayet grinned as her steed whinnied softly in seeming affirmation. Inside, however, the princess became suddenly nervous about the prospect of him coming along. _Will he want to talk about-about _that_? _she thought. At the same time, though, Thayet knew deep down that she had been wanting to have this talk for a long time. In fact, she realized, she was _hoping_ he would come to her if for nothing more than much-needed respites from his kingly duties.

"Well, yes," she said finally, "if Buri agrees."

"If I agree to what?" Buri strode into their stall, clearly impatient. "Hello, Your Majesty. Thayet, are you going to make me wait around all day?"

Thayet started to explain, but Jonathan superseded her with a very apologetic request to steal the K'miri woman's riding partner for the day. Buri, hands on hips, finally agreed to finding a different riding partner but left muttering something about lovebirds who chose the most inconvenient times to court when previous-_platonic_-plans had already been made. This left the royals in good humor but blushing as they prepared to ride out and "court."

* * *

Reaching the Royal Forest's perimeter, Jon was first to change the course of their companionable banter. "Thayet, I... have something important to discuss with you."

Thayet regarded her king with pensive eyes not betraying her tumultuous emotions. _Here it comes_, she thought. "Why don't we dismount first?"

They did so atop a clearing that sloped downward toward the Forest. The sun shone directly above them, melting away all clouds. This late-July day promised to be another sultry one.

King and princess sat cross-legged, facing one another, though a respectful distance apart. Thayet waited for Jon to gather himself to speak again. What was on his mind was clearly not a subject broached very often in his daily meetings.

"Thayet, first of all, I want to thank you for your initiative in starting all of those schools. Myles tells me that things are going... swimmingly," he said, grinning at the end.

Thayet smiled and waved him off. "There's no need to thank me for what had to be done, what you would have done soon enough, I'm sure..." she trailed off, actually unsure.

Jon smiled sorrowfully. "You see, I would like to think I would have, but who's to say exactly when?" He paused, and continued in a lower voice, "What scares me the most is not being able to accomplish what, even as a prince, I have always wanted to accomplish during my reign as king."

Thayet stared at him, surprised at his bleak honesty with her. He continued.

"I-I need something more-someone, not my councillors or my advisors, but... someone who can-intimately-help me rule as both a king and a man."

Thayet blinked, uncertain of how to respond. Jon blundered on, afraid he would lose the courage if he waited.

"I need-want a moral as well as a political advisor to help guide me when things go awry. Kings are only human, and no king is perfect, but without the moral guidance of a, another human counterpart... things can fall apart very quickly."

Thayet finally found her voice. "You mean you need a queen," she almost whispered.

A crooked smile ghosted onto his face. "I was getting to that," he said, equally as soft, "I was getting to the part where I was going to say that I want that person to be someone I loved, someone I wanted to make not only the queen of Tortall but _my_ queen. And that I think I've found that person, and she's sitting right in front of me."

Thayet would have gaped, had the action been dignified. He was looking at her with the oddest expression on his face. Before, she had always seen confidence, thoughtfulness, and even light-hearted amusement on that face. But now, there was a tenderness and solemnity there-_in his beautiful eyes_, she caught herself thinking-that she had never seen before, and now it was directed straight at her. The intensity of his gaze made her look away; conflicting emotions and memories that swelled in her so suddenly threatened to overwhelm her composed demeanor. As the most dominant ones of them all, memories of Sarain never strayed far from her thoughts.

"Oh Jon, I-not now, not so soon-"

"I understand," Jon assured her quickly. "But Thayet, please just... think about it." You could do so much more than build schools and hospitals if you were queen."

Thayet grappled for the right words to say. She found so many reasons to say yes at this very moment, but also so many reasons in opposition. "Jon... are you sure you want to marry _me_?" she asked.

"Yes," he said quietly but firmly, closing their respectful distance and taking her hand in both of his. "I love you."

Thayet couldn't miss such a clear statement substantiated by that look in his eyes. Reciprocating his love and marrying him meant becoming the wife of the most powerful noble in a land that she was barely getting used to, the wife of the Voice of the Tribes. Also, to bear his children, the heirs to the throne, the future rulers of Tortall. Thayet had her doubts, but not just about her possible queenly duties.

"Jon," she began, "I thought you were once lovers with Alanna."

He nodded slowly. "Once, Thayet. But not anymore. You needn't doubt where my loyalties lie."

Thayet looked down at their joined hands, her fingers intertwined comfortably in his. Was she free to declare her love for him just as he was free to love her? _This is all too much at once, _she thought, suddenly weary_. _

"Jon, please, I'd like some time to think about all of this."

"Of course." He kissed her hand and released it. "I know I'm giving you quite a bit to mull over but you know that I respect your decisions. If you need to know anything, about me or no, you need only ask."

The level of gratitude in her smile melted his heart. "Thank you."


	2. Midsummer Day

_A/N: Thank you Ortholeine, Dragongrrl7, and Alanna official for reviewing my first chapter. I apologize for the long wait, I have an explanation! (Yes I know Lord Wyldon says explanations = excuses but w/e.) I scrapped my original Ch 2 because I realized it wasn't interesting enough so I rewrote it as this one. (I may post the original sometime after I finish this fic but it really all depends on how its received.) I messed up the time frame (Midsummer Day is technically in June not July) but other than that, I hope this was worth the wait. Please leave a review and tell me how I can improve!_

* * *

Midsummer Eve dawned cooler, a break from the heat wave that swamped Corus the entire month.

"Are you sure, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Timon, I am sure I don't need a taster."

"Very well, but, Majesty―"

Jon sighed. The footmen and servants were after him the entire day, in preparation for the banquet later that night. And the hot weather was doing nothing to make things easier.

Timon, along with his appetizer platter, eventually left, looking somewhat downtrodden.

"Yer Majesty!" someone called.

Jonathan groaned internally and turned toward the voice. Protocol had required the king's presence in the palace's bustling Great Hall, where most of the preparations were being made for the celebration tomorrow.

Jon spotted Volney Rain, one of his court's most distinguished artists, trotting toward him. Born a commoner but trained in one of the most prestigious art institutes in the realm, Rain was a common subject of gossip, being a gossip himself, but he was generally respected at court. Now in his fifties, he was a wizened, yet highly energetic man, whose attire matched his bold attitude.

"Hello, Master Rain," Jon said.

"'Mornin', Majesty!" Rain greeted as he came to a halt in front of the king. "Ye wouldn't happen t'be busy at the moment, are ye?" he asked.

"Not at all," replied the king. "What may I do for you?"

Volney looked relieved. "I been thinkin', Majesty. We been workin' on a few pieces for the gall'ry exhibit t'morrow. Me 'n m'boys wanted ta make somethin' real special, 'specially for his Majesty," he nodded reverently, "but we din't know how. But then I thought up this amazin' idea―dunno how I din't come up wiv it afore. It'd be real special if His Majesty could help us make a paintin'!"

Jon stared. "Um―Master Rain, I think you've got the wrong―"

"Oh, don't be modest-like, now! A lil birdy tol' me drawin's yer hobby!" Volney winked, without mercy.

The king reddened, suspecting a certain red-headed lady knight. "E-Even so, Master Rain, I couldn't―"

"A'course ye could!" Rain exclaimed.

"No, really, Master, I would only ruin your canvases."

"Nonsense! Come wiv me, I'll show ye. It ain't gon' be hard 'r nothin', Yer Majesty, I promise."

Jon had no choice but to follow the artist out of the hall and into one of the salons on the way to the catacombs. The artist had done a great many wonders in the portrait gallery during his 20-year tenure at the palace. Reaching the painting gallery, the first thing Jon noticed was just how much _color_ there was on each of the many panels arrayed along the room's perimeter. About twenty artists worked here; those who noticed the king's entrance bowed to him and quickly got back to work. They painted fantastical battles―most of which, Jon suspected, were products of the last month―as well as peaceful, and some dreamlike, scenery: individual artists' representations of what Tortallan life meant to them. All worked in tasteful splashes of sunbright summer hues that drew the eye. To say the least, Jon was proud and impressed with everything. Moreover, he did not see a single thing _he _could do here that would make anything better. If anything, he felt his involvement would make things worse.

Volney Rain was speaking. "As ye can see, Majesty, we ain't finished. There's much t'be done yet."

Jon stared past the man, incredulous.

Rain seemed to mistake the king's look as one of reprimand. "I know, I know, ye'll help us make all o' this better. This 'ere paintin's the one ye should look at." He gestured behind Jon.

So awestruck Jonathan was at the works-in-progress that he did not notice the wall behind him, the one in which the doorway lay. The lone panel there was almost untouched, only sparse reds, oranges, and greens decorated its border.

"'Tis t'be the―the centerpiece, so to say. We wanted to have somethin' real important 'ere, but we couldn't think a nothin' worth it. Recommend ye draw anythin' on there that ye like, Majesty." Someone across the room called Rain. "All yer supplies're in this room, an' tell me if ye need anythin' else." With that, he scooted off.

By now Jon was more than baffled. At last he shrugged, thinking, _He _did_ say _anything.

Jon gazed at the waiting panel. He sighed. _The things I do for my country._

* * *

An hour later found Jonathan of Conté alone in the painting salon, hard at work, his concentration on the painting and quiet contemplation of what the second half of the year would have in store for Tortall his only company. Eventually his mind wandered dangerously to the "what ifs" that befitted his station. What if the people never recovered from his use of the Jewel? or took a long, desperate time to? What if they never recovered? How would he use the Jewel again if these were the repercussions? What if King-and-Council weren't enough to handle this? What if Thayet refused to marry him?

Wait, where did that come from? Who was he kidding, of course he knew where it came from. From the moment he met her, it was she who captured and held his attentions, more than she knew. He thought of her every single day, secretly dreaming of the day he could openly declare his love to her, even marry her, a product of his fantasies the mindless sketch of her that Alanna had so eloquently reminded him of. Her beauty was merely a reflection of her righteous and steadfast nature, loyally patriotic to Tortall and to himself despite having just arrived. Jon could not see a future for Tortall―a truly better one―that did not include Thayet's steady air of command and no-nonsense decision-making, her ruling alongside him. Jon grinned at the coincidence. What was it about strong, unconventional women that captivated him so?

Someone knocked on the closed door and knocked Jon out of his reverie. A distracted mumble of admittance and the door opened to admit the subject of his musings.

Thayet stopped to survey his work, the strangest look on her face―one of thoughtfulness, admiration, and amusement. Finally, she said, "We'll make an artist of you yet, Jon."

Jon flushed delicately. He hid his embarrassment and asked, "Well? What do you think?"

"I quite like it actually." She looked quizzically at him. "This is certainly not a predicament I _ever_ imagined you being in..."

Jon sighed and put his paintbrushes and paint palettes on the floor, which was already ridden with paint streaks, despite the canvas protection around the panel bases. "This is the worst decision of my life," he conceded exaggeratedly, running a paint-streaked hand through his hair.

Thayet noted with amusement that he, particularly his face, had collected a few streaks of color as well. He took this moment to notice too and self-consciously wiped his face on his equally streaked sleeve.

"Um," Thayet began, "Jon, you missed a spot."

He looked up at her miserably. "Where?"

She chuckled mischievously and pointed to her nose.

Suddenly a wave of excitement filled him, and Jon, feeling suddenly mischievous himself, said as he approached, "There, is it? Let me help you get it off..."

Thoroughly caught off-guard, Thayet yelped and back away. Jon advanced toward her; she almost tripped over a paintbrush. She laughed with him, remembering absently, _This is certainly not a predicament I ever imagined _I'd_ be in._

She eventually did trip on a paintbrush, and Jon made no effort to slow his momentum as he tumbled across her. He rolled and sat up, laughing at her efforts to work paint out of her hair. Even as she tried to glare at him, she giggled too.

"Really, Thayet, let me help you with that." Instinctively he reached over for her hair, working sticking strands apart, though they both knew it was futile. Eventually the king found himself directly facing the princess, his hands tangled in her hair. He hadn't noticed when she stopped entangling her own fingers in her hair to look at him. Nor did he notice when she leant closer until she placed a butterfly kiss on his lips.

Even the barest touch revealed to him that her rosy mouth was much softer and more wonderful than he ever dared to imagine.

All too soon, Jon thought, her lips were gone. Her hazel eyes glinted with affection and rare shyness as her eyes locked with his. Her cheeks were pink.

"Thayet," he breathed, feeling far too much like a lovestruck teenager again.

Suddenly she looked down. "Jon, I'm sorry, I―"

He silenced her with a kiss of his own, much more lingering than hers was. He felt her respond then, slowly, tenderly. She broke the kiss, her hands braced against his chest.

"Jon, I know I haven't given you my answer yet."

He cocked his head. "I know. I can wait," Jon said cautiously. He thought for a moment, then asked, "Is that why you were apologizing?"

Thayet sighed. "Well, yes―"

"Well you don't need to. Do you like kissing me or not?"

Thayet's mortification was replaced by surprise. "Of course I do, but I'm aware that I might've been leading you on..."

"Then I'm glad to be a fool for you."

* * *

The Midsummer sunset the next day marked the end of the banquet and the beginning of the royal exhibition, Tortallan artists' pride and joy of the year. Despite the catastrophic events earlier that summer, Jonathan sensed the need to return to normalcy and so didn't cancel such events that always took place as was Tortallan tradition. The Portrait Gallery filled with comparatively less people than normal, since many lords and ladies were in their home fiefs repairing damage and dealing with their provincial economies.

Nonetheless, the works were worthy of the Midsummer Exhibition. Altogether there were thirty new pieces. Though many were made before Coronation Day, the common theme seemed to be the tragic, tumultuous, yet promising transition from King Roald's reign to his son's, King Jonathan's. One such painting depicted a flaming red-and-gold lioness rearing proudly atop the corpse of an enormous black-and-blue dragon.

This night King Jon mingled among his guests, feeling mortified at his own piece when he compared them to the others. He was not ashamed of it; finished, it was, Volney Rain assured him, a magnificent painting. It was the Royal Palace as seen from its front gate. It was the same palace, yet the left half of the canvas depicted the battered, crumbling palace it very much still was today. The other half depicted a resplendent, flourishing Tortallan palace after its repair. Jon decided he quite liked the message, which he hoped was clearly drawn, but felt his artistry in conveying it was left a bit wanting.

He could not hide forever; every artist was expected to say a few words pertaining to their art. Ultimately Jon found himself facing his, his guests arrayed around him, earnestly awaiting the king's words on his uncharacteristic art.

Jon turned to face them and cleared his throat. "I want to thank you all for visiting Our Portrait Gallery this evening. And especially to all the artists, who worked so hard year-round to make this exhibit possible tonight, despite what we've been through the past couple months.

"And that is the subject matter of this painting. Master Volney Rain so graciously asked me to contribute a piece this year, and though it cannot compare to the splendor of the guild artists' works, it bears a future I hope we all strive to fulfill in the coming years.

"There is no denying that Tortall is a shambles today. We are recovering, but the process is painfully slow. All great power comes with great consequence, and the Jewel is, I can tell you, no exception. I'm sure you all know by now that every seed, tree, rock, and grain of soil is tied to the Crown's magic, but nevertheless our crops are slowly dwindling in quality and abundance."

He looked each attendee in the eye. Among them he sighted Gary and Cythera, Duke Gareth, Myles and Eleni, Thayet and Buri. "It is my hope that we will do all we can to assuage the damage, which, I'm afraid, will be here to stay awhile. Let us rejoice in the gifts we still have today, and thank Mithros and the Goddess for our lives."

"So mote it be," his audience murmured.

Jon smiled. "Feel free to remain till the midnight bell. Let us celebrate our blessings and admire our talents―not mine," he joked, to his audience's chuckles, "and savor the longest day of the year."

* * *

Half a bell after midnight, Jon escorted Thayet through the halls to her rooms.

"This was some day. I didn't know minstrels and bards could be so―loud!" Thayet confessed.

"Really?" Jon asked, then chuckled. "Macon can get... passionate... What was Saren entertainment like?"

Thayet sighed at the memory. "At court, we have―we had―jugglers, dancers, and mostly percussion music. Not much singing, but we did have storytelling, and some bards. They certainly recited their stories differently, though. For commoners, people mostly improvised their performances and mainly performed for small groups. They loved to involve their audiences and they played more string instruments. And there weren't many theaters like there are here in Tortall."

Jon looked wistful. "Fascinating. It's a pity the state they're in."

Thayet felt a pang of sorrow at his use of "they" instead of "you." It made her that much more aware of the Doi woman's prophecy that Thayet would never see Saraine or be Saren ever again.

They took a detour around a circular courtyard with a blue fountain at its center. The fountain was splashing again but there was still scattered debris on the stone flags that had yet to be swept away. Many of the surrounding pillars were cracked.

Turning a corner into the hall where visiting royalty stayed, the king and princess halted at Thayet's door. Now Thayet touched Jon's arm, saying, "I look forward to getting used to Tortallan culture. This Midsummer Day―it was fun."

Jon shifted from foot to foot. Then he said, "I know technically it isn't Midsummer Day anymore, but..." he leaned in and kissed her softly. "Midsummer luck, Thayet."


	3. What Did You Say?

In mid-October, Thayet and Buri left the Palace for the Southern Desert to visit Alanna, or so Thayet told herself. The princess had confided in the king that she knew little about the Desert tribes. The Voice of the Tribes saw her off, but not before letting her read numerous accounts on Bazhir history.

The king and his council continued their work, slowly rebuilding the country from the inside out. Jon's mood only soured as food shortages got worse. He, without a doubt, moped, feeling helpless for the state of the country and miserable for his own feelings. The days the princess was gone turned into a week, then two weeks.

She had become a part of him he never knew existed, and missing it felt worse than he thought it would.

Alas, a king's work waits for no one, especially not for said king to sulk. Thus, Jon busied himself as pointedly as he could, consumed by the kingdom's affairs. As much as he felt obligated to intervene, it never ceased to amaze him how well people managed on their own.

Soon enough, a herald came bearing news that the king had been secretly awaiting since the princess and her prickly companion had left.

"Her Highness and Lady Tourakom have returned, Your Majesty."

Jon blinked at the man. It seemed to him as if all of time had gone by in the past month, yet he was not a second wiser. _Great Gods_, Jon thought, following the man out of the room. _Was I ever this nervous as Prince?_

Jon entered the royal stables quietly. His anxiety set the blood rushing in his veins. He turned the corner past Darkness's stall and found himself face-to-face with none other than—

"Buri, welcome back," he said amiably.

She grunted. "Don't kid yourself, Majesty, you're not here to see _me_." Her tone was sharp as usual, but a smile tugged her lips. But then a strange seriousness came over her expression, one that Jon suspected only showed itself when she talked to people she cared about.

"Don't screw this up," she said, lowered voice gruff. "I would hate to see anything happen to you, still so young and new to being king around here—"

"Buri, who are you talking to?" a new voice called. Princess Thayet stepped out of her horse's stall to find her friend. When Thayet saw Buri's companion, and the look of confused horror on his face, she planted her hands on her hips and looked to Buri for an explanation.

"Just His Majesty, Your Highness." This only managed to deepen the king's frown. The K'Miri only gave Thayet a knowing smile before she strolled out of the stable, leaving the royals alone.

Jon recovered and turned his attention to the woman before him. She stepped toward him briskly. He thought she'd stop in front of him, but when she simply strode straight into his arms, he didn't mind in the least. "Yes," she whispered in his ear.

He pulled back to look into her deep-set hazel eyes. He kept her in his arms as he thought, _Is everyone going to talk to me in code today?_

"Yes what, my dear...?" his voice trailed off when he suddenly realized, at least, what Thayet meant.

Her lips quivered at the transformation on his face. Then he grinned—not as a king would, but as a man in love would.

"So I take it that the Lioness, of all people, finally convinced you that I was a good enough sort to marry?" His eyes shone with unspoken admiration.

Thayet smiled in turn. "Let's just say that it didn't take much of a push when I was already going in the right direction."

Jon chuckled and kissed her sweetly. "I _love_ being right."

* * *

"Stop that, Alanna, why are you laughing?"

It was a week later and Alanna and George had just returned to Corus to announce their betrothal to Court. Jon barely got the chance to tease Alanna about it until here she was, laughing for all she was worth—which was a lot—in Jon's study.

"I'm sorry, Jon, it's just that—I could have sworn—" another fit of giggles prevented her from continuing—coherently, at least.

Jon sighed. Alanna was one of his best friends—if not the best—but he was losing patience. He'd only asked her one simple question, and now she easily spurned his teasing by _laughing_ at him—

"Jon, are you mad?" She regained composure at last and now suddenly looked very serious.

"No, I'm not," he said sternly, "what's the matter?"

"Jon, I cannot be Thayet's maiden of honor," Alanna replied. "Me being any part of the royal wedding would tarnish—"

"—the reputation of everyone there," Jon finished smartly. "But how in Mithros's name could it?"

"Now, Jon, don't start bringing Mithros into this," Alanna cautioned, "and you know very well how it will."

"Please," Jon said, "enlighten me."

"I still can't see why Thayet couldn't've asked me herself."

"She really wants you to be part of this, but she thought you'd refuse. I begged to differ. So she made me ask you, to 'see for myself.' Now enlighten me," Jon said, rather exasperatedly. "Alanna, what difference does it make if you're maiden of honor or King's Champion?"

Alanna rolled her eyes. "A royal wedding is a traditional event, and you know as well as I that the new Queen of Tortall ought to have some _real _maidens of honor, not ones who make a living whacking people with sticks."

Jon got up from his seat and gave Alanna's shoulders a shake. "Alanna, listen to yourself! '_Real maidens_.' You're being ridiculous. You are her first Tortallan friend and I think she'd be rather offended if you refused to honor her. And the King's Champion ought to have some role at a royal wedding."

That was it, then. Both of them the best of friends yet stubborn, often irritably so. In such times, they'd each simply go and do things their own way. On those rare occasions when one would give in to the other, however, the surrenderer would have to swallow his or her pride and concede defeat.

This was one of those times.


End file.
